


A Veela in Our Midst

by vala (valinorean)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, M/M, Veela, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valinorean/pseuds/vala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But don't you see? If he looks like one, acts like one and smells like one, then he must be one!" Harry finds out that Draco is a veela, but Draco refuses to acknowledge this fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Veela in Our Midst

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: wendypops  
> Written for do_me_veela's Valentine Veela Fest

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“What brings you to the Ministry?”

“Filing a complaint.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, well. Good to see you, Potter.”

“Take care of yourself, Malfoy.”

It has been seven years since Harry last saw Draco Malfoy. During the repeated 8th year in school, he and Malfoy had mostly ignored each other, with only the occasional quirk of an eyebrow or a nod in amicable greeting to acknowledge the other’s presence. It was not something they had agreed upon, but a silent truce had been established between them nonetheless. There had been no mention of the famous Potter-Malfoy rivalry from their early Hogwarts days, or of the events that had happened during the war if it could be helped. On the whole, Harry’s view of Malfoy had changed from ‘annoying git’ to ‘halfway decent.’ And on that final day at Platform 9 ¾ before they left for home to begin their lives as true adults in the wizarding world, Harry had shaken Malfoy’s hand and said, “Have a nice life.”

He didn’t think they’d ever cross paths again.

So it came as a surprise when Harry saw Malfoy that day at the Ministry. He was on his way to work and had just Flooed into the Atrium when the adjacent Floo roared into life and out stepped Malfoy, who proceeded to dust the excess Floo powder from his robes without looking up.

If it weren’t for the platinum hair, Harry would not have even looked twice at the man beside him. Malfoy looked nothing like the pale and all too thin boy that Harry had last seen at Hogwarts. There were no dark shades under his eyes, he didn’t throw suspicious looks over his shoulder every so often like he used to do, and his bearing was perfectly straight and proud. It was a far cry from the boy he remembered, the one who used to have a hunched posture with his head always bowed, humbled by the aftermath of war.

Harry had to look twice, in fact, because there was a radiance about Malfoy that made everyone else surrounding him dull in comparison. He wanted to reach out, to touch. But just as he was about to draw near, the man turned towards him, as if sensing his presence. Their gazes met for one intense moment before Harry remembered himself and gave a small nod of greeting. And when the awkward pleasantries were over, Malfoy gave him one last enigmatic look before disappearing into the crowd.

The encounter had left Harry with two things: one was a sudden vertigo that nearly brought him to his knees, and the other was a lingering scent that, disturbingly enough, he could only describe as uniquely Malfoy’s.

-:-

  
“You know, you keep complaining that nothing exciting ever happens here. Why don’t you apply for Auror training and join Ron’s team?”

It was a slow day at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and on days like these, Harry would often find himself having tea with one of his best friends. Hermione’s impressive work in S.P.E.W. earned her a high enough status to warrant her personal office in the Beings Division in DRCMC. It was only a short walk from the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau where Harry worked, so he would often drop by for afternoon tea.

“I’m too old to join training—I’d be seven years older than the new recruits,” Harry replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “And by the time I’m done with training, Ron would be next in line as Deputy Head and I’d still be a rookie Auror. Besides, I like it here. It isn’t as active as DMLE but...it’s just that sometimes nothing _ever_ happens. I miss doing field work in Romania.” Harry sighed, thinking of the wide open fields and beautiful country roads.

Hermione laughed and shook her head. “During the two years you apprenticed with Charlie, you did nothing but drive us crazy with your owls and midnight Floo calls, moaning and whining about the smell of dragon dung and how you missed living in the city.”

“Well that was before,” Harry said, flicking an invisible lint off his robe. “Now it’s all paperwork and too little hands-on.”

One of the things Harry liked about having Hermione nearby was that she never ran out of Ministry gossip. It turned out to be one of Hermione’s guilty pleasures and surprisingly, it was Harry who would always indulge her whenever she was in the mood to share a juicy story or two. After being at the end of one too many false rumours, one would think that Harry would be vehemently against them, but he confided in her that talking about others made him feel normal, and for once relieved that the gossip wasn’t about him.

They were in the middle of discussing the not-so-secret love affair between the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office and his just-above-legal secretary when Ron poked his head in from around the door.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Have you heard?”

“Hi,” Hermione waved him in, eager for new gossip.

Ron quickly entered the room and shut the door behind him. He dropped a kiss on top of Hermione’s head before pulling up an armchair to sit beside Harry.

“What’s the news?” Harry asked as he handed him a cup of tea.

Ron lowered his voice mysteriously before saying, “They say that a veela is in the building. In fact, people were saying that this veela has been coming and going in the Ministry for the past week.”

Variations of incredulous _No’s!_ and _Impossible’s!_ filled the small room. A veela coming in for official Ministry business is a very rare occasion. Years ago, the Department used to have three separate veela offices for Registry, Historical Records, and Magical Laws Surrounding Veela Heritage. But over time, the veela blood had thinned and very few veela manifested in wizarding families. The veela offices had slowly been reduced from three to one, until finally there were only two people working in Veela Liaison.

“At least that’s what they’re saying in the Auror Department,” Ron continued. “They couldn’t figure out who it is because the magical signature is erratic and keeps coming and going.”

“You know, I bet it’s Malfoy,” Harry said with conviction.

Hermione gave Ron a knowing look and rolled her eyes as if to say _here we go again_ , but this time it was more from amusement than exasperation. For the past few years, it had been a running joke between the three that any strange, suspicious or mysterious occurrence happening anywhere had something to do with Malfoy, even though they had not seen or heard from the former Slytherin since the repeated 8th year in Hogwarts.

“Sure it is, mate.” Ron laughed heartily and patted Harry on the back.

“No, really. I’m serious this time,” Harry insisted. “I bumped into him the other day and there’s something different about him. Didn’t he come to your office just the other day, ‘Mione?”

Hermione sighed, as if she was trying hard not to remember the incident. “He’s filing _yet another_ complaint about the new House Elf regulation we just passed. He really takes after Lucius Malfoy on that one.”

“And, what did you think?”

“Well, of course he was obnoxious about it. The regulation is only intended for those who have more than five House Elves in their household. It’s ostentatious to have more than one or two, really. And since the Manor has over—”

“I meant Malfoy,” Harry interrupted her before she could recite the entire regulation from memory.

“Oh,” Hermione replied. She tapped her cheek with a finger and began to think. “Well, it had to be a coincidence that the news about the veela began just this week, about the same time Malfoy started coming into my office. But other than the fact that he looked and acted more mature than when we were in school, there really isn’t much of a difference.”

“Are you sure?” Harry pressed.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione said. “Sure, he’s got pale flawless nearly-glowing skin, he looks like he’s gliding over the floor instead of walking, and he’s been successfully flirting with my secretary and those of my colleagues’ in the office just to get an appointment. But that only makes him a Malfoy, not a veela.”

“But don’t you see?” Harry insisted. “If he looks like one, acts like one and smells like one, then he must be one!”

Ron nearly choked on his tea. “Did you just say _smell_?”

Harry flushed, looking both confused and embarrassed. “Yes, well. Isn’t it the same for Fleur? Bill always waxes poetic about her smelling like freshly bloomed flowers in spring.”

“That’s because he’s her mate, mate.”

“Are you sure you think he’s a veela, Harry?” Hermione teased. “Or are you just saying that because you don’t want to be caught dead admitting that you find Malfoy unusually attractive after seeing him again for the first time in seven years?”

“ _What?_ No, that’s not it at all!” Harry spluttered.

Hermione laughed. Harry had come out to them and the Weasleys two Christmases ago. Surprisingly, it was Ginny who convinced him that the only way for them not to have awkward family dinners was to reveal why they decided to break up. Since then, Hermione had constantly been trying to set him up with her friends and as a result, she knew exactly Harry’s preference in men.

Malfoy fit Harry’s taste perfectly. He was tall and fit, but not overly so. A bit on the lean side, always impeccably dressed (a contrast to Harry’s first-thing-grabbed-from-the-closet attitude), and had a sarcastic streak that Harry would enjoy immensely.

“It’s okay you know, we won’t judge you,” Hermione said impishly. “He’s fit, well groomed, very witty just the way you like them, and don’t tell me you didn’t check out his perfectly edible arse—”

“Hermione!” Ron cried, cutting her off. “Well _I’m_ judging _you_ for that.” He proceeded to huff and crossed his arms across his chest before glaring daggers at his girlfriend.

Hermione giggled and got up to kiss Ron on the forehead. “That’s okay. But you won’t judge Harry if he admits to liking Malfoy would you?”

“Are we even talking about the same person here? It’s _Malfoy_!” Harry said the name as if it would explain everything that was wrong with the conversation. When Hermione just shrugged, he added, “He’s pointy, abnormally pale, and while most people have laugh lines, he actually has _sneer_ lines on his face.” Harry pointed at the part of his face where the nose meets the cheek just to emphasize his point.

Ron tuned back to Harry, finally appeased by the shower of kisses he received from his girlfriend. “Well I still can’t get over the fact that you actually _sniffed_ the git. What exactly did you smell?”

Harry wrinkled his brows in concentration. “Well, remember when we brewed Amortentia in 6th year? It was kind of similar to that. It reminded me of other things like light rain on a Quidditch pitch, sandalwood, and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. Something distinctly...”

“Something distinctly Malfoy?” Ron sniggered.

Hermione, however, had that look that said she knew something was wrong. She watched Harry trail off and saw his eyes glaze over. Then Harry turned in his seat and looked at the door as if expecting something or _someone_ to come through.

“Something like…there! Do you smell it?”

Both Ron and Hermione looked at each other in confusion and Hermione closed her eyes to see if there really was a strange scent in the air. Then it hit her.

Her eyes snapped open and gasped. “Ron, did you feel that?” But she didn’t hear Ron’s mumbled _not now ‘Mione_ or see his worried face as he watched Harry. “I can feel it! It’s not a scent, but more like a discreet shimmer of magic. It’s not very intrusive, only lightly probing...oh my god, Harry. You could be right!”

It was then that all hell broke loose.

Harry began to scrabble from his chair in an attempt to launch himself to the door, but Ron’s lightning fast Auror reflexes had him pinned to the floor even before he could take two steps. Hermione cried in panic and drew her wand, not knowing who to point it at—her boyfriend who had just assaulted Harry for no apparent reason, or at her best friend who was struggling like a wild animal on bloodlust.

“Ron, what are you doing?!” she cried.

“I don’t know,” Ron shouted back, trying hard to keep Harry pinned to the ground. “He got that weird look on his face, the kind that criminals get when they’re about to bolt—my instincts kicked in.”

“Gerroff, Ron,” Harry cried, trying to crawl his way to the door. “I need to...I need—”

It was that absurd tableau of Ron pinning Harry to the ground with his hands and knees and Hermione pointing her wand at them that greeted Draco Malfoy when he entered the office.

“What the bloody hell are you three doing?”

-:-

  
Harry was stunned. Dumbstruck. _Gobsmacked!  
_  
He groaned for the fifth time that afternoon and dropped his head in his hands. “Oh god, Hermione. Kill me now,” came the muffled sound from his concealed face.

Beside him, on the armchair that Ron had previously occupied, sat Malfoy, with one hand rubbing his temple as if he felt a headache coming on.

Hermione’s office was now more or less a semblance of decency. Ron had left earlier mumbling something about not wanting to be there when the Basilisk egg hatches, or something to that effect. Only Harry and Hermione were left to try and relate to Malfoy the entire incident, much to Harry’s mortification. Malfoy had been decent enough to humour them by hearing their explanation after initial protests of “No, I don’t want to hear what sort of kinky threesomes you get up to in your office.” Hermione told him of the rumour of a veela visiting the Ministry lately and how Harry had figured out Malfoy’s secret.

Except it was not the explanation Harry wanted to hear.

“I’ve read a bit on veela traits and mating habits, but mind you, all these researches were done on female veela,” Hermione began before turning ominously to Harry. “Also, I think I know why you’re the only one sensing it, Harry.” Her eyes were now wide and shining just like how it usually gets when she’d just had an epiphany.

“I don’t think I’m going to like what you’re about to say,” Harry said warily.

“Harry you’re his mate!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you see? You’re the only one affected by his presence and I bet he doesn’t even need to use his allure on you to get your attention.”

Harry and Malfoy practically jumped apart at the pronouncement. He wasn’t sure who was more horrified by his best friend’s conclusion, him or Malfoy. _Former best friend_ , Harry amended furiously in his head.

He wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. First was the humiliation he would probably never live down by being caught pinned to the ground, and now this? _This?!_

If it was possible to die from mortification, he was sure he’d be long dead by now. He wanted to hide under a rock, never to be seen again. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Maybe he could—

“Okay look,” Malfoy interjected, cutting into his train of thought. “First of all, I am _not_ a veela. And second—Potter, what the fuck are you doing now?”

The room was humming with magic and the pens, quills and other loose items on Hermione’s desk began to rattle. Only the intense look of concentration on Harry’s face held any possible explanation.

“I’m, um...trying to _Vanish_ the floor so the ground could swallow me up?” Harry said quickly in a very small voice.

Malfoy blinked at him, disbelief written clearly on his face. “Are you shitting me?”

The vibrating stopped almost immediately.

Harry slid lower in his in his chair in a futile attempt to make himself smaller, and was now even more mortified than he was earlier, if that was even possible.

“Merlin, we all know you’re that powerful,” Malfoy said scathingly. “But really, the _floor_? Only you would think to _Vanish_ the floor and give literal meaning to your Muggle metaphor.”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said, trying to soothe him. “You could’ve done a lot worse than Malfoy. You’re actually lucky, you got mated to a rare male veela and not a female one!”

“Hermione!” Harry hissed while surreptitiously looking at Malfoy. Oh _now_ she was going to out him, too? “Besides, we haven’t _‘mated’_ —” Harry quoted with his fingers, “—as you put it.”

Malfoy snorted at their conversation. “Oh please, Potter. I’ve known since 8th year that you’re gay.”

“How did you know that?” Harry whirled around to face Malfoy.

“Remember McFarland? The fifth year Ravenclaw?” Malfoy smirked. “She threw her knickers at your face, Potter, _your face!_ Only a gay man would fold them up nicely and hand them back.” Harry started to protest before Malfoy added, “In front of everyone,” with a pointed look and Harry’s mouth snapped close.

Harry listened half-heartedly as both Hermione and Malfoy continue to debate about Malfoy’s alleged veela blood. Hermione wanted to go to the Veela Liaison office and go through their historical records to confirm Malfoy’s heritage. She was convinced that they needed further proof of the extent of his veela powers. Did he have the magic of the pure veela and could transform or grow wings? Could he launch balls of fire from his hands? Or did he possess only physical attributes and minor veela traits that alter a normal wizard’s pheromones?

Malfoy, however, was having none of it. The press would have a field day if they ever learn about the latest scandal on The Family Everyone Loves to Hate. He was still convinced that it was all just an elaborate ploy to try to humiliate him. After all, the only proof they had was Harry’s reaction to his presence, which wasn’t much to begin with since Malfoy had already chalked him off as cracked.

“Right, that’s enough,” Malfoy said through clenched teeth and stood up, terminating further conversation. “Thank you, it was very entertaining. But I’m only here to follow up on my complaint about the new House Elf regulation. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be taking my leave now, Granger. Potter.”

“Wait! You can’t just leave like that, Malfoy,” Hermione cried.

“Watch me.”

“This isn’t just about you. It’s about Harry, too!”

“I beg to disagree. You’re the one who kept saying—”

“Wait!” Harry said suddenly, cutting through their conversation. Their argument had been so heated that they did not realize that Harry had come to a decision on his own. “I...okay.”

“Harry?” Hermione asked worriedly at the same time Draco exclaimed, “Excuse me?”

It wasn’t something Harry had to think about, it was just something he knew. He trusted Hermione’s judgements completely and if she was convinced that Malfoy was a veela, then he was. When she said that he was Malfoy’s mate, everything just suddenly clicked into place. The reaction, the attraction, the _scent_. It all made sense to him.

Everything he ever knew about Malfoy faded into the background. Every hostile emotion he had ever felt towards the other man seemed so petty now. They were no longer children, for Merlin’s sake. All he could think of now was ensuring Malfoy’s happiness and wellbeing.

Besides, his best friend was right, he could have done a lot worse. In fact, he couldn’t have done better. The man suited his taste perfectly, he was undeniably attractive, and most of all, he would have absolute loyalty that would last a lifetime through the veela bond that they share. _Will share_ , he amended.

There really was only one thing to do: give in.

“I said, okay.” Harry took a deep breath before pushing on, “I accept. Being your mate, I mean.”

“No.” Malfoy shook his head. “Absolutely not. This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, Harry. Are you sure about this?” Hermione immediately got up and went around the table to envelope Harry into a bone crushing hug as if Harry had offered to kill himself, go into exile, or something equally drastic.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Harry said, attempting to sound convincingly resigned to his fate while trying to keep his glee at bay. “Besides, you’re right. It could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Oh drop the tragic drama act, Potter,” Malfoy said exasperatedly. “And I keep telling you both, I am _not_ a veela!”

“It’s okay Malfoy, we won’t judge you just because your blood isn’t pure,” Hermione said in a tone so serious and understanding that she might actually have been taking the piss.

“What?!” Malfoy spluttered. “I can assure you my blood is pure. I would have known if there’s veela blood running in me!”

“But don’t you feel it, Malfoy?”

Harry took Malfoy’s left wrist and tugged the hand to him. He gently stroked the clenched fist to uncurl the long slender fingers and touched the man’s palm. Harry stroked lightly in a circular pattern until there was a pulsing rhythm emanating from centre of Malfoy’s palm. Then the soft hum of magic began to radiate from their joined hands and travelled through their entire bodies. A quick zing of electricity passed in its wake and made them both shiver, before all traces of magic disappeared completely.

“What…?” Malfoy quickly pulled back, looking perplexed at what just occurred.

Harry could almost see the cogs turning in his head as Malfoy began to feel the same realization that Harry felt mere moments ago. He watched as Malfoy's eyes met his, seeing both fear and marvel in those grey orbs. Harry was almost sure Malfoy would feel that warm acceptance of fate, but instead the man’s eyes turned into cold steel.

“This isn’t...I can’t...” Malfoy backed away shaking his head. “I need to talk to my father.”

With that, he abruptly stood and left.

“Wait!” Hermione called out, but Malfoy had already disappeared through the door.

Harry slumped in his seat feeling bereft and suddenly sapped of his energy. What just happened? He was so sure that it would all work out. That Malfoy would acknowledge him as his mate. His head began to spin and he braced his arms on his knees to keep from pitching forward.

“Hermione? I don’t feel so good,” he whispered weakly. “Is this normal?”

The next moment he was heaving on the floor.

-:-

  
It took two weeks before Harry was able to gather enough courage to owl Draco. He'd taken to using the man's given name now that he'd accepted his fate.

In the last two weeks, Harry learned more than he ever needed to know about veela and their mates, all thanks to Hermione. She had taken the initiative to pile Harry with more information than he could handle (or care to know, for that matter) and she was able to convince him to talk to Draco about the incident in the office.

“No veela can live long without its mate, Harry. You need to talk to him.”

Her arguments had been so thorough and convincing which was why today, Harry found himself nervously waiting for Draco in a small coffee shop just off Diagon Alley.

Harry immediately knew the instant Draco Apparated into the vicinity, but it was a full three minutes before he saw the man come into the shop. Draco’s eyes met his from across the room, as if he knew at once which side of the room Harry was in, and made his way towards the sitting man. Harry became hyper aware of Draco’s presence: the soft footfalls of his expensive Italian shoes, the rustle of cloth as he took off his outer robes, and of course the scent. It was the scent that Harry knew he’d be able to discern anywhere, even inside an apothecary filled with strong potions and pungent raw ingredients.

“Hi,” Harry said nervously as Draco slipped into the seat across from him.

“Potter,” Draco greeted back.

“Don’t you think it’s time you call me Harry... _Draco_?” Harry tried to say that as casually as he could but he couldn’t keep his lips from trembling as he said the name.

“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?” Draco said without preamble. “Whatever reason you think I agreed to meet up with you, it’s not that. I’m not here to try and work out anything.”

Harry winced at the cold and formal tone. “But I thought we’re here to figure out exactly what’s happening. It’s not just going to go away on its own if you ignore it either, like it’s some kind of passing flu. You’ll eventually need to come to terms—”

“I’m getting married,” Draco said, cutting him off. And he added in a softer voice, “So it doesn’t really matter.”

“Wait, what?” Harry said, unsure if he heard it correctly. “But why?”

“Because I need to,” Draco said, almost pleadingly. “You have to understand, I’m the last Malfoy and I need an heir to keep the name alive.”

“But you can’t! A veela can’t live long without its mate,” Harry said, repeating Hermione’s words. “Please. Think about this some more.”

“Look, about that,” Draco said. “I’ve done some research on my own, and there’s never been proof of any trace of veela blood in our family. I even asked my father and he—”

“Oh I see,” Harry said, his eyes darkening. “This is all Lucius’s doing isn’t it. Marry a pureblood, produce an heir, save the family name? I bet he told you that you’re not a veela too.”

“No! I mean yes, but—”

“Draco, look at me,” Harry said insistently, taking one of Draco’s hands from across the table. “I know you can feel what I’m feeling. I can see it in your eyes. You know there’s something there—something’s happening between us, even if we can’t explain how or why it fits.”

“I...Harry...” Draco whispered almost painfully. Harry’s throat tightened as he heard his name for the first time on the man’s lips. “I can’t.”

And just as he had done before, Draco ran out without looking back.

Harry Apparated to his flat, barely making it to the bathroom before he began convulsing.

-:-

  
Twice, he’d been rejected.

It was something unheard of, a veela rejecting his mate. But he was Harry Potter after all, and nothing was ever normal for him. Not all veela ever find their mate, and as such they are allowed to pursue whomever they please. The mate, however, could never ever stray once they have been claimed. And claiming can be as simple as acknowledging their shared bond.

But Harry wasn’t daunted by Draco’s attitude. He was certain that Lucius was behind Draco’s refusal to claim him and decided that a visit to the Manor was in order to discuss the current situation, and perhaps convince the Malfoys not to marry off their son. He resisted adding _to someone less worthy_ to the thought.

The discussion, however, did not go as well as he had hoped.

“Are you opposing this because you refuse to believe there is veela blood in your family or because it’s _me_ that Draco chose as his mate,” Harry asked bluntly.

“Both, if you must know,” Lucius replied without hesitation.

The tea in front of them remained untouched. When Harry appeared at the Manor gates, everyone knew that it was not for a social visit. Lucius had been prepared for the confrontation and Draco had wisely kept out of the conversation.

“So if it was anyone else, you are less likely oppose it?” Harry asked, his voice sounding dangerously like a growl.

“Mr Potter, we may be forever indebted to you for what you did for us,” Lucius said with his teeth on edge, “but there is a limit to what we can tolerate. I will not have you besmirch our family name or honour, or what little we have left of it, by insinuating that our bloodline is tainted.”

“For the last time, Lucius,” Harry said, equally frustrated. “I am not doing this to humiliate you or your family. Voldemort is dead and people won’t care about your blood’s purity. I’m doing this for Draco.”

“One war cannot change traditions that lasted for centuries. It was there before the Dark Lord came, it will be there long after he is forgotten,” Lucius countered. “If you truly are concerned about my son’s wellbeing, I suggest you drop this entire thing now. He is to be married next week and we don’t want this… _debacle_ —” Lucius said with unveiled disgust, “—to leak out to the press and ruin everything.”

“Next week?” Harry turned to Draco, shocked. He didn’t realize it would be this soon.

“Not that it’s any of your concern,” Draco said casually, although he had the decency to look guilty about it. “But as a matter of fact, yes. I am to marry Astoria Greengrass next Friday.”

“Well, of course it concerns me!” Harry exclaimed. “I’m your mate! Don’t you think I should know about important details like that?”

“There will be no more talk of this ‘mate’ nonsense—”

“Why do you keep avoiding the issue—”

“Harry, please don’t make this any harder than—”

“That is enough.”

Narcissa’s voice, calm yet cold, cut through the exchange like a knife and the three men ceased their bellowed conversation immediately.

“It’s getting late, Mr Potter,” Narcissa said stiffly, although the light of the afternoon sun had barely begun to dim. “Let me show you to the door.” She gracefully stood up and waited for Harry to do the same. Harry remained in his seat for a while longer, but when it became obvious that Narcissa was willing to wait no matter how long it took, Harry reluctantly got to his feet. With a final glare directed at both father and son, Harry stormed out of the room.

When they reached the front door, Narcissa stopped him before he could Apparateaway.

“Mr Potter,” she began. “I understand that you are doing this for Draco and only have his best interest at heart, as do we. This wedding is as much for our son as it is for our family. He may not love the girl, but it would bring him much joy to have a family of his own. As such, there is no reason for us to stop this wedding, unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Mr Potter, are you in love with my son?”

“ _What?_ ” Harry exclaimed, blindsided by the question.

“Are you in love with my son?” she repeated slowly, as if talking to a young child. “Because if you are, I will do everything in my power to help you stop this. For my Draco, finding love is more important than having a family. If you are what he wants, then I will not question this.”

“Me? In love with your son? Of course not!” Harry said, fervently shaking his head. He cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment. “It’s the veela in him. It’s the allure that’s making me attracted to him, both emotionally and, er, physically…”

“I see,” Narcissa said in a very cold voice. The sudden change surprised Harry that he almost regretted saying what he just said. “Very well. Good day, Mr Potter.”

“But—!”

“Good day, Mr Potter,” she repeated firmly before closing the door.

-:-

  
After the disastrous meeting at the Manor, Harry tried to contact Draco again, but to no avail. All his owls were returned unopened and Floo calls had been warded against him. Harry had given up all hope of ever contacting Draco before his wedding to try and change his mind one last time.

But the opportunity presented itself when Harry found Draco on his doorstep on Thursday evening.

“Draco, what—”

Harry was cut off as Draco pushed his way into the flat. Draco began pacing like a caged animal and was running a hand through his usually meticulous hair. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few days. Harry closed the door and leaned against it, trying to hide his surprise (and obvious delight) as Draco paced and muttered to himself.

“I don’t understand,” Harry heard Draco say. “There’s no explanation for this.”

“Tell me,” Harry said softly.

Draco stopped pacing and looked at Harry. There was a look of such frightened desperation in his eyes that Harry wanted to reach out and wrap him in his arms. Almost.

“I’m marrying Astoria tomorrow,” he said. Harry swallowed, knowing this was his last chance to convince Draco otherwise. “I should be able to do it. There’s no magic binding us together, not if I don’t claim you, right?”

Harry nodded. It was true. A veela need not claim his destined mate; a veela could pursue anyone he chooses. The only consequence is the veela would never live as long as those who bonded with their intended mates.

“Harry,” Draco’s voice was quiet but firm, “what will happen to you when I marry Astoria?”

“Nothing, really,” Harry shrugged, but added in a small voice, “Though I suspect I’d be pining for you forever.”

“No you won’t,” said Draco.

“You don’t know that,” muttered Harry.

They stood silently in Harry’s foyer for a long time, each lost in thought. Finally, Draco sighed, looking entirely defeated and resigned to his fate. “I should go,” he said. But he did not make any move to go.

Harry had been looking at his feet during the entire conversation. He couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. But he knew that if he didn’t do anything now, all his chances would be lost.

“Claim me,” Harry finally whispered.

“What?” Draco asked, his voice equally soft.

“I promise I won’t get in your way,” Harry said, finally looking up to face Draco. “You can have your family with her. Just claim me, please.” Harry’s voice was so a broken that Draco moved to reach out, but retreated at the last instant. “If you don’t, you’ll only have a little more than a decade to live. Two if you’re lucky.”

“But what will happen to you?”

Harry only shrugged.

“I can’t do that to you,” Draco said gently. “You’ll never find someone to love, living like that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry insisted stubbornly. “It’ll always be you.”

Harry pushed back from the door and stepped into Draco’s personal space, crowding him to the wall. He heard Draco’s breath hitch as he splayed his hands on Draco’s chest and leaned in close.

“Tell me you want me,” Harry whispered.

There was a moment of intense silence before Harry saw Draco’s resolve break and give in. He whispered back, “I want you.”

“Tell me you want this,” Harry insisted.

“I want this,” Draco replied without any resistance.

“Then kiss me.”

Harry felt strong arms wrap around his waist as he wound his own arms around Draco’s neck. Their lips met, softly at first, but quickly turned demanding, each trying to stake their claim on the other. And nothing, _nothing_ had ever felt this perfect in his life.

When they broke away, Harry saw a faint glow emanating from Draco’s body. Draco’s gasp made him look down at his own body and realized that he too was glowing.

“Oh no no _no_ ,” Harry heard Draco’s anguished whispers and saw the man shaking his head, his eyes wide with panic. “What did I do?”

Before he could even reply, Draco Disapparated.

Harry didn’t throw up this time. His vision darkened and he passed out before he even hit the floor.

-:-

  
“Three, Hermione. Three,” Harry moaned into his pillow as Hermione rubbed soothing circles on his back.

Hermione had stopped by Harry’s flat that morning knowing that he might need some company, this day being Draco’s wedding and all. What she didn’t expect was to find him collapsed on his living room floor. When she was able to revive him, he told her about Draco’s visit the night before.

“I can’t believe I got rejected three times!” Harry sighed heavily as he turned to lie on his back. “Have you ever heard of anything like that happening?”

“No, not really,” she said sympathetically. “But there’s nothing we can do if Draco won’t acknowledge you as his mate.”

“I’m just worried,” Harry replied. “If he keeps denying his veela heritage, it’s bound to end in disaster.”

“I know,” Hermione said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “But you’ll be there, right? To save him?”

Harry smiled wryly. His best friend could be annoyingly perceptive sometimes.

“Don’t have much choice, do I?” Harry said. “A veela can be unfaithful since it ideally encourages reproduction. But not the mate. But you know what? Even if I could be unfaithful too, I don’t think I would want to.”

The minute the words left his mouth, Harry realized the truth in it.

“Oh god,” Harry said, his gasp turning into horrified laughter. “I think I’m in love with the bastard!”

Hermione only gave him a wry smile. “Took you this long to figure it out?”

They both chuckled at the irony. A veela who refused his mate, and a mate who refused to be free. Not to mention that it happened to _them_ , Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

“The wedding is probably about to begin,” Hermione said after a few minutes.

Harry was hit with cold dread and he inexplicably knew that Draco was in imminent danger. He sprang up and turned to his best friend.

“Hermione,” Harry said urgently. “What happens to a veela that gets rejected by its mate?”

“I’m not sure, Harry,” Hermione said. “Usually the veela could use the allure to his advantage so rejection is pretty much unheard of, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it has the same effect as when a mate tries to be unfaithful to his veela.”

“You mean the veela would die, too?”

“Well, that’s probably the extreme consequence,” Hermione said. “But depending on the kind of rejection, I think it would affect the magical core the most. The wizard would try to reject the veela magic in him, since it was deemed unworthy by its mate. Side effects would include magical drain, mental fatigue, and maybe...physical illness...oh _god_...”

Their eyes were both wide when they met.

“Oh no, Harry...”

“Shit, Draco!”

“Just go!”

-:-

  
The Manor grounds had never been this lavishly decorated. There were open air tents, strengthened with Imperviuscharms, white roses everywhere, and soft discreet music playing in the background. It was obvious that nothing was spared for the wedding of the Malfoy family’s only heir. In short, it was perfect.

But if anyone were to look more carefully, they would notice that the only imperfection in the entire event lay with the groom. He was entirely too pale, more so than his usual complexion, and had been seen pacing nonstop since that morning. Most dismissed it as only a case of nerves, which every man had gone through on his wedding day.

But when time came that he had to stand before the Bonding Witch to clasp his future wife’s hand, a sudden inexplicable pain, more powerful than a _Crucio_ , coursed through his entire body.

He fell with an agonized scream. But just before he lost consciousness, the ground rumbled and shook the foundations of the Manor. People screamed in panic and the Manor’s wards collapsed under the onslaught of powerful magic.

A loud crack of Apparitionwas heard and Harry Potter, Saviour of the wizarding world, materialized in the midst of all the chaos.

-:-

  
The last twenty four-hours had been the worst of Harry’s life. Not even the fight with Voldemort had he felt this kind of helplessness and despair. Nothing could be more agonizing than waiting for news of whether the person you love would live or die. Harry never left Draco’s bedside the entire time, and he all but broke down when Draco first stirred from his spell induced coma.

“Draco?” Harry’s voice was soft, a contrast to his tight grip on Draco’s hand.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice was cracked and dry.

“Darling!” Narcissa cried as she rushed to her son’s side opposite Harry. Lucius followed in a more sedate pace.

“What’s going on?” Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion, looking back and forth between his parents before turning back to Harry and dazedly asked, “And what are you doing here?”

Harry’s answering smile was blinding, but whether it was from profound relief or something else, it was impossible to tell.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” Harry said. “The Healers warded your room against me. They thought my presence would disrupt your healing, but you needed me. Did you know Lucius went all Lord Malfoy on them? He probably would have even used his Voldemort’s-Second-in-Command speech if they hadn’t let me in.” Harry dropped his voice in mock whisper and grinned. “I think your father likes me.”

A half incredulous and half amused snort came from the other side of the room.

“What I meant was, why are _you_ here?” Draco repeated. He turned to his parents. “And where’s Astoria?”

The atmosphere in the room visibly darkened and a low growl involuntarily escaped from Harry. Narcissa looked away.

Lucius cleared his throat before saying, “I believe it would be best if you refrain from mentioning her name, or even think about her anymore, Draco. Ever.”

“Why? But—”

“Don’t,” Lucius said in a tone that brooked no arguments.

“I think it’s best if we leave the boys alone now,” Narcissa cut in smoothly. She straightened up and latched her hand onto her husband’s arm. “Come, Lucius.”

Draco stared in disbelief as his parents left him in the room alone with Harry.

“I don’t...” Draco began.

Harry didn’t say anything. He waited for Draco’s reaction, both hands still clasping one of Draco’s.

“Tell me what’s happening,” Draco said. “And why is Father not throwing a fit?”

“Actually, I have a confession,” Harry began hesitantly. “ _I’m_ the veela, Draco.” Harry watched carefully as Draco took in the information. “AndIkindofclaimedyouthatdayatHermione’soffice,” Harry continued in a mumbled rush.

Draco’s eyes grew round as comprehension dawned. “What did you say?” he asked in a breathy whisper.

“I didn’t know at the time,” Harry explained. “When I told you I accept, and then I touched your hand...I didn’t know it would be that simple.”

Draco only looked at him, as if trying to process everything. “And Father...?”

Harry chuckled without humour. “Well, you could just imagine how _that_ went with your father. But he already gave his blessing. After all, you either choose me or die.” Then Harry grew more serious. “I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not. I may have to ask for your forgiveness for the next couple of decades, but I hope you’ll eventually forgive me.”

Draco bowed his head and Harry couldn’t see his face anymore. Then Draco began trembling and there was a sound like a strangled gasp from Draco. And suddenly the other man was throwing his head back and laughing. Draco laughed and laughed and then pulled Harry into a searing kiss.

It was all the forgiveness he needed.


End file.
